“None of us would get killed,” said Marcus. “It was a great plan.” He made vague karate-style movements with his hands, though no one could see them with his hands still cuffed behind his back, and the raw skin on his wrists burned from the effort. “Super Partial combat prowess, you could totally have—”

“Will you please shut up!” said the guard. “Holy hell, it’s like listening to my little sisters.”

“You have little sisters?” asked Marcus.

“Not anymore,” said the guard, “thanks to that mongrel sitting next to you.” He pointed at Vinci, his face growing tenser and angrier. The room fell silent for a moment, but then Marcus spoke softly.

“Technically, he’s less mongrel than anyone else in this room. He was grown in a lab from custom-engineered DNA; he’s like a perfect . . . specimen, and all the rest of us are the mo—”

The guard leapt to his feet and crossed the narrow room in a single step, lashing out with the butt of his rifle to crack Marcus hard across the side of his face. Marcus reeled back from the blow, bright lights flashing behind his eyelids, his skull ringing, his entire consciousness focused on the intense, mind-ripping pain.

Somebody slapped him, and he struggled to open his eyes. Woolf knelt in front him, his hands free; behind him the guard lay unconscious on the floor, and Vinci and Galen were stripping him of his weapons and gear.

“Holy crap,” said Marcus. “How long was I out?”

“Just a minute at the most,” said Woolf, examining his head. “You’re going to have a massive bruise here. If you remember back when we made this plan, Vinci was the one who was supposed to get hit in the face. He heals faster.” He reached behind Marcus and unlocked his handcuffs.

“Vinci didn’t take it far enough,” said Marcus, examining his chafed wrists before touching the side of his head gently. It was already swollen, a rigid band of raised blood and tissue as hard as bone. “We got him all riled up and ready to pounce, and then Vinci didn’t step up with the final insult. The moment was passing; I had to do something.”

“You didn’t have to push him quite that far,” said Woolf. “That little speech about a Partial being a ‘perfect specimen’ would have gotten you punched in a nunnery.”

“I didn’t realize he needed further incentive,” said Vinci, checking his rifle. “I’m sorry. I suppose I’m not very good at insulting humans.”

“Marcus is a damned expert at it,” said Woolf. He claimed the guard’s sidearm, a semiautomatic pistol, and gave the combat knife to Galen. “Now let’s get out of here before he wakes up.”

“One thing first,” said Marcus, crouching back down by the guard’s feet. His head swam slightly as he did, and he paused a moment while the room stopped spinning.